


Top Ten Hobbies for Newly Deviated Androids

by ferbowerbo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reverse, Fluff, Hank Anderson Gets a Hobby: The Fanfic, M/M, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbowerbo/pseuds/ferbowerbo
Summary: Hank, designation HK800, can’t return to the DPD after the revolution succeeds. At least, not until the government passes laws on android employment.He turns to the internet to find a hobby.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76
Collections: Hankcon & Other Ships Halloween Exchange





	Top Ten Hobbies for Newly Deviated Androids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doomcheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcheese/gifts).

> This one goes out to both @doomcheese and also @thehankconsucc who told me not to give up halfway through! Love u both!

i. 

The article sits open on Connor’s laptop, Hank’s eyes scanning the page over and over again. 

“Get a hobby,” Connor had joked, “then you won’t be so bored all day. I’m not covering for you the next time you try to access case files from my laptop. They won’t buy it a second time.” He remembers the stern look Connor wore on his face, even if he burst into laughter just a few moments later, half-shouting how he simply couldn’t believe that Hank had even tried. 

Before his deviance he’d always been such a stickler for the rules.

Now, he just wanted to escape the monotony of his days alone in Connor’s house. 

For the last month, his routine had gone like this: 

First, he’d emerge from stasis. He’d see Connor off to work in the morning and then he’d waste several hours trying to find something interesting on Connor’s Netflix. When he finally grew frustrated of unoriginal Netflix Originals, Hank would try to access Connor’s files in order to help out. But each time he’d get close, he’d start to feel guilty about it. Not wanting to actually risk his future employment or Connor’s current job, he’d sit and sulk with Sumo for a few hours. And then, if he was lucky, Connor would arrive home on time to a bored out of his mind Hank. 

Basically, not being able to work was killing him from the inside. 

That’s where the article comes in. Sent to him by Connor, who apparently got it from Nines, the list looked unassuming and easy. ** _ “Top Ten Hobbies for Newly Deviated Androids,” _ ** the headline read. It continued, _“With no employment laws in place, a lot of newly deviated androids are finding it hard to find purpose in life. When humans are feeling like they don’t have something to do, they fall back on random hobbies they’ve picked up. We polled hundreds of androids to ask what their human friends recommended they do with this extended free time!” _

The Buzzfeed reporter was overly cheerful, and Hank decided that this list was probably going to be awful. But Connor seemed hopeful that Hank would give it a try, so… He was going to try all of the things on the list. At least once. So he can return to begging Connor for just a little bit more detail on his cases. 

** _i. knitting_ **

The first on the list was laughable. Knitting. Hank was an advanced prototype, not a household model created to do chores and take care of the children. He was literally built to be a killing machine, to find and kill deviants and take out anyone who stood in the way of his mission. Not to hold… knitting needles that looked like children’s toys in his huge hands. 

The first pattern was simple, he just let his programming take over. His hands expertly created the scarf in record time, and Hank smiled as he preconstructed the end result around Connor’s neck at the beginning of a snowfall. 

But, the article didn’t say he should follow his programming. In fact, the article was pretty clear that he shouldn’t.  _ “These activities are a whole new level of fun for androids when you turn off your protocols and try things the human way,” _ the writer had harped. And the words repeated in Hank’s brain. 

He really wanted to do what the article said. 

He grabs another roll of yarn and begins. 

* * *

Connor arrives home to an unholy mess. Sumo’s covered in wat appears to be brightly colored yarn, neon pinks and greens. His entire living room is a spider web of different strings and all of them seem to lead back to a blinking red light in the center of the room. 

A blinking red LED. 

A familiar one. Hank didn’t remove his after the revolution. But Connor rarely saw the android’s LED blink red. Hank usually kept his cool around the house. At work, sure, Hank would blink red sometimes. 

But not here. 

Connor had promised Hank would be safe here. 

“Hank?” He calls out, maneuvering through the mess towards the Hank-shaped hole in the center of the living room. He takes a seat right next to Hank, moving the yarn away from the android’s face with only a bit of a struggle, “What’s wrong?” 

Hank’s LED blinks red twice more, then yellow and then onto a cool, calm blue. 

“I - I tried to knit?” Hank explains, his voice gruff showing off his frustration, “I’m unsure what, exactly happened. All I know is one second Sumo had a hold of my yarn and the next I was stuck in the middle of this… mess. I’ll clean it up right now,” Hank starts into action, standing up with a panicked expression. 

“Hold on - Wait,” Connor says, arms coming up to stop him. “I want a picture. This is like, some kind of conspiracy theorist dream. It’s great.” 

Connor steps back and pulls out his phone, capturing Hank’s angry face. He laughs as they wrestle for posession of the phone, and when Hank pulls him into a kiss it’s just as natural as breathing. 

It takes four days to pick up every bit of yarn. 

_ **ii. jogging** _

The next item on the list was guaranteed to be easier than the last. 

Going for a jog? How hard could that be? Most humans agreed that exercise of any kind tended to clear the mind, at the very least. Plus, Hank had been fitted with the programming for some of the workout android models when he’d been sent out. So, this one should be easy to get into. 

Hank double checks that Sumo has everything he needs for an hour or two and then takes off down the street. 

Two hours later, he’s standing in front of the Ambassador Bridge and staring at the spot where just months earlier he and Connor had fought over whether or not androids were alive. Taking a seat on the bench, he reconstructed the night perfectly. 

A misstep, a gun to Hank’s head. One wrong word and Connor could have fired. Hank knew the gun was loaded from his scans, but he didn’t believe Connor capable of taking his life at the time. 

In retrospect, he was probably right. But he still underestimated him greatly then. The Connor he knew now wasn’t the same as the one he’d seen that night. Yeah, Connor might be kind and gentle but he’s stronger than he looks. Even on two days with no sleep and a bit too much caffeine, he wasn’t as defenseless as Hank had assumed.

Before he knew it, the sun had disappeared over the horizon, leaving Hank sitting on the bench in the dark, reflecting on past mistakes. On things he wishes he could have changed. He imagined himself giving in then, fighting the red walls and not chasing after the next set of deviants that arrived on their desk. He imagined actually being a part of the resistance, instead of just tagging along at the tail end. 

Sure, North always assured him he was welcomed and they were glad for his help but he never felt like he did enough for them. Hank looks from he water down to his own shaking hands. 

“Hank?” A familiar voice asks, his tone soft and worried. He turns on the bench to find Connor, worry etched into the lines of his face and a perfectly knitted scarf wrapped around his neck. It’s been eight hours since he left for what was supposed to be an hour long jog. 

He just… got stuck. Thinking about what he could have done differently. 

“Hank, baby, are you okay?” Connor asks, gently. He doesn’t reach out to touch no matter how much Hank wants him to, “You know I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said here, right? I didn’t - I wouldn’t have - have shot you then, and I wouldn’t hurt you now.” 

“What?” Hank asks, a little shocked by the outburst, “What are you talking about?” 

“You’re not - We haven’t been here sin-” Hank cuts Connor off quickly. 

“No. Don’t get caught up on it. I’m just lost in my thoughts. I’m not upset.” 

“Why are you crying, then?” Connor throws back. Hank brings his hand up to his face to find that, yes, he is crying. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“I don’t know. Can’t an android cry on a park bench without being interrogated?” Hank says gruffly. It doesn’t help. Now that he’s noticed there’s still tears falling down his cheeks, he can’t stop them. He stands, wiping at his face uselessly. 

Connor takes two steps, and then he’s wrapping Hank up in his arms. Even if Hank’s bigger than him, taller and thicker in most places, Connor always manages to wrap him up in hugs that leave him feeling safe and secure. He doesn’t know if he was born with this talent, or if it was learned, but Hank finds himself glad that he’s got it. 

“Hey,” Connor pulls back from the hug, alarmed. Hank continues talking anyways, “I love you.” He says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The last time they were here together he would’ve called it all lies. 

“I know,” Connor says, and Hank barks out a laugh. When Hank’s hands have finally stopped shaking, they walk back to the car hand-in-hand. 

Another item marked off the list, but from this Hank thinks he won’t need a repeat performance. 

_ **iii. chess** _

Hank plays online chess for about forty minutes before he’s completely banned for cheating. 

At least it was a good waste of an hour. 

_ **iv. baking** _

The fire alarms were screeching. 

Hank stared at the oven, unsure of what he’d done wrong. The time restraints were stringent, and he’d followed the recipe connor’s grandmother had left perfectly. everything was going to plan, but the blackening smoke that poured out of the closed door said otherwise. 

Hank put out the fire efficiently, opening Connor’s oven and staring at the charred remains of the cake that Connor claimed was his favorite. 

Not being able to work was boring him out of his mind. From the moment Connor walked out the door to start a shift to the second he returned, Hank would count down and hope that he found something, anything to occupy his time. 

Hank is not accustomed to failure. His original programming didn’t allow for it - each moment before his deviance was his own pursuit towards perfection. It was pointless, in the end. But that need for success never left his systems. 

He’s far too busy staring despondently at his failure to notice the door opening or Connor putting his coat on the rack in the entryway. He just stands, frozen, and keeps reconstructing the scenario and ending with the flashing words “Mission Failed” over and over again.

Hank turns just as Connor gets close enough to inspect the garbage. He shuts the top of the can as quickly and quietly as possible. Connor doesn’t buy it, but he lets the issue go. 

“So, you’ll never guess what shit Nines pulled today,” Connor announces, and he jumps right into a distracting story and thankfully, forgets about the hidden burnt cake in the garbage bin. 

_ **v. gardening** _

Connor’s backyard has a little area for a garden that a former resident must have liked. The spring had settled in and still there was no full resolution for android workers. Most who worked were paid under the table or just didn’t work at all, like Hank. So he moved on to the next thing on his list of hobbies: gardening. 

He liked it enough, making something grow wasn’t as easy as it looked but it was time consuming. It kept his mind of how easily he could be helping Connor with cases or in the field. Caring for little flowers kept him far away from worrying about what could be happening to Connor as he rushed into a crime scene and - He had to stop thinking about the worst case scenario.

It was even relaxing when Connor wasn’t away. 

Each time Connor came outside to watch him work, he’d put on a ridiculous sunhat and lounge in an unused beach chair for hours. He always looks ridiculous, like Connor was pretending to be some kind of rich person who was ordering his gardener around. Hank thought it was hilarious.

The garden lasted nearly a month before Sumo realized he could dig through it. 

Instead of starting over, Hank bought a planter for the back window and planted his flowers just out of Sumo’s reach. 

At least one of the list’s items was a success. 

_ **vi. photography** _

To put it simply, Hank had a DSLR camera built into his optical units. Photography seemed like it would be the easiest task on the list to accomplish. As the summer began, there was plenty of things to take photos of. 

But Connor insisted that Hank using his eyes was cheating. And loaned him an old, bright lime green Polaroid camera. Upon his first scan, Hank found that Connor had bought it in 2025, and had subsequently not taken any pictures with it. 

He must have forgotten he bought it at all, Hank reasoned. 

Even if the picture was totally clear in his optical units, the Polaroid never quite came out right. From lighting trouble to barely moving and causing a blur, there was always something wrong with the photos. 

Hank threw every one of the out even if the mistake was minor. 

He didn’t want Connor to know that he wasn’t good at another one of the “easy” human hobbies on the list. He didn’t want to seem like more of a failure, again. After the “jogging incident” he was not eager to repeat that feeling of uselessness. 

He finally decides he’s done when he’s gone through forty Polaroids with nothing to show for it. He quits on a Tuesday afternoon, and tells Connor that evening. 

“I threw them all away, sorry for wasting your cash on nothing.” 

Connor looks cagey for a second, before he darts towards the drawer across the room. An unused journal sits there, just a few random recipes written in it. Hank had scanned it months ago, and it hadn’t moved since. 

Except, now Connor seems to regard the item as really important. And it’s absolutely full with little bits of photo paper. 

Hank has a bad feeling about this. 

“I - I, uh. I kept all of them?” Connor says, opening up the journal on the kitchen table and letting five photos of Sumo fall onto the table. Hank stares at them and sees only the imperfection. His own program points it out immediately. 

“They’re amazing,” Connor continues, “Seriously, Hank. I think this is one of the only photos of me I’ve ever liked.” He pulls the one on the first page of the journal out. It’s a moment frozen in time, and Hank can pull up the entire conversation in his memory bank easily. 

Last week, when Connor had pulled off his coat and lounged on the couch instead of worrying about anything. A case had ended that had been weighing on him, and Connor was glad to have caught the man responsible for hurting so many people. And, finally, he was allowing himself to relax. 

Hank had seen him lying there and had picked up his camera as quickly as possible, making his way towards the couch and raising it to his eye. Connor had opened up one eye and stuck his tongue out, but the smile on his face was so genuine. It was a perfect shot, Hank had thought. But when the photo had developed, the glare of the flash on the mirror behind him had bothered Hank until he placed it in the garbage. 

And Connor had fished it out. He’d loved it enough to steal it out of the trash can, loved Hank enough to support him even if he’s being way too critical of everything that happens. 

Maybe Hank wants to cry. He also kind of want to laugh. He chooses neither option, instead pulling Connor down by his half undone tie into a soft kiss. It’s what his lover deserves, after all this effort he’s put in. 

“You know half of these are crap, right?”

“They’re not. But even if they were I’d frame every one of them.” 

_ **vii. gaming** _

Connor has a modest collection of games sitting on a shelf in the living room. The television is hooked up several different gaming systems, some of which came out before Connor was even born. 

Hank figures this task will go similarly to chess. He’ll be banned for cheating eventually, his reflexes too sharp for the games. Maybe he’ll beat a speedrun record or something in the process. Maybe Connor will think that’s cool. His internet history reveals that he used to watch a lot of people play video games online. 

Hank wants to start off simple, with the classics. A reboot of Tetris is downloaded on Connor’s Nintendo Switch, and at 1:17 in the afternoon, Hank boots up the game. 

Connor arrives home at 6:02 PM to find Hank screaming at his ancient Nintendo Switch, swearing up a storm at Tetris 99. Apparently Hank has deemed the game “impossible” even when he employs his own algorithms and strategy. 

Connor watches him lose a round spectacularly and laughs for hours, happy that his boyfriend i apparently the world’s worst Tetris player. The video he takes of Hank screaming obscenities is passed around for weeks at the DPD as a meme. 

_ **iix. music** _

The article was purposely vague on the topic of music. Hank didn’t quite… get what he was supposed to do when it came to this point. Was he meant to pick up a guitar and write a song, or just turn on Connor’s weirdest Spotify channel and get lost in… vampire crust… punk? Hank had no idea what kind of shit Connor actually liked to listen to, and what was just ironic. 

Listening to music seemed like too little effort for the list, though. Connor wouldn’t want him to just… pretend to try this. Hank realized that this list had become way more important to him than he’d expected. 

Connor had an old guitar in the attic. It had never been tuned or used, but he had one nonetheless. When Hank asked, Connor shrugged and mumbled about an old flame, but didn’t tell Hank to throw it out or put it back. Hank easily took that as permission to learn how to use it. 

Two weeks later, and Hank was almost an expert at guitar. He spent hours upon hours learning how to play and sunk as much time into the hobby as possible, as he found he actually liked it. 

It was a nice evening, so Hank ordered takeout and set up a romantic dinner (or what passed for one on Pinterest). 

The candles flickered as Hank moved about the room, setting the table with Lo Mein from Connor’s favorite Chinese restaurant and he even put a tiny bowtie on Sumo because Connor would think it was hilarious. 

Connor arrives home to a dark house. 

“Hank?” he says into the house, hand instinctively reaching for his service weapon. Hank never left the lights off in the house when he was alone, he hated the darkness that he was left in. 

“Connor?” Hank responds from the kitchen, and Connor sighs dramatically, all the anxiety draining from his body. 

The scene he finds there is surprising to say the least. Candlelit dinner, Sumo in a bowtie and Hank with a guitar off to the side. He wants to cry, he’s been stressed out for weeks and this is just… exactly what he needed. 

Hank’s rough voice is perfect when he serenades Connor and it’s easily one of the best nights of his life. 

_ **ix. origami** _

The little paper cranes that cover Connor’s house end with a trip to the vet after Sumo eats a few of them and starts whining.

He’s fine, but origami doesn’t hold the same charm after that. 

_ **x. painting** _

Leo Manfred agrees to help Hank out when it comes to the last item on his list. The leader of the revolution always sketched Hank out just a little bit, even when they became allies. But he was the only person Hank knew that knew just anything about art, and so he’d swallowed his pride and made the call, trying to be… friendly after everything he’d done to their people and the help he’d provided in the final seconds of the Battle of Detroit. 

It was… awkward. Super awkward.

Leo picks up the cheap paints Hank and bought with a judging look on his face and Hank knows he’s probably fucked everything up. Neither of them are men of words, and the silence would be strange to any human who walked by. 

“So… why, exactly, are you taking up painting?” Leo asks, through the mind link they’ve created. 

Hank sends a link to the original article with a grin, and Leo offers a strange look in return, “This is last on the list, have you finished everything else?” 

Hank blushes blue at the memory of him completing the other bits, and Leo laughs at him, “I’m not sure I want to know what’s making you blush like that.” He comments, and then turns back to the dollar store canvases. 

“We should try some Jackson Pollock shit on these,” Hank suggests, and the excited glint in Leo’s eyes is enough to know that he’s made the right decision. 

Connor arrives home to find Hank and Leo Manfred covered from head to toe in paint and laughing as if they were old friends. He takes in the scene for a second, the wreckage that is his living room covered in tarps and paint splattered all over them and the two androids at the center. 

He closes the door loudly, and both of them jump at his entrance, then dissolve into giggles again. He takes in the Pollockian art the two had created that day. Each piece is unique, Hank employing silvers and blues and Leo using more greens and reds. It fits their personalities, he decides. 

“I’m going to guess you missed the news?” He asks, steeling his voice. The excitement of what’s going on in DC had gotten to him in the last twenty minutes of the ride home. Hank was going to be so excited. 

Hank looks up at him, confused, before his LED starts to blink on his forehead, and Connor ruins the surprise, “I have your badge, you can come to work again tomorrow, partner.” 

All is quiet for a few minutes, before Leo jumps up and stands on Connor’s back porch, his eyes glazed over as he’s obviously speaking to his friends and allies. Hank, though, doesn’t move. 

“I just finished it,” He says, after a long silence, “And now I can come back to work with you.” 

“Finished what?” Connor asks, moving as close to Hank as he can without getting completely covered in acrylic paint. 

“The list you sent me: ‘Top Ten Hobbies for Newly Deviated Androids’. It took me eight months, but I just finished it this afternoon.” He looks up at Connor and there’s tears falling down his face, cleaning the paint off and creating really obvious tear tracks. 

“Perfect timing,” Connor smiles, and he quits caring about how much paint he gets on him. He steps across the room and pulls Hank into his arms. 

“Perfect,” Hank agrees. 

* * *

The follow up article surmises the situation perfectly. 

** _Top Ten Careers for Newly Deviated Androids. _ **


End file.
